An Acute Case: 27 January 2023

Relitigating the white South, a death and a break-up foreshadowed, almost-ecumenical folk, straight-talking indie, and “folk-alt-pop”

Adeem The Artist: White Trash Revelry
Wikipedia says this is the ninth release from non-binary seventh generation North Carolinian Kyle Bingham and/or Adeem Maria, and while they can’t all be juvenilia, from an opener that takes its point of departure for unpacking generational abuse as “I started out as a light in my mother’s eye” to a closer that finds a “Hello In There” for a right-wing revanchist afraid of losing their America, this is clearly the big one—a full-blooded reckoning of inherited bigotry and hard-won individualism that hews close to the bone while avoiding both dogma and censure. And so we get a white South where democratic candidates shill for corporate interests, the devil dismisses the Robert Johnson myth as white people refusing to acknowledge a Black man’s worth, redneck unread hicks get hitched with two wedding gowns, and father/son hunting lessons lead to military service which leads to one of the two endings you’ll likely infer from that. A full complement of banjos, mandolins, laps, pedals, and steels keep pace with Bingham's acoustic attack and a lyrical style long on crammed syllables, marathon rhyme schemes, and total commitment to considering the other side. Though note the accountability credo at the start: “Ain’t nobody someone else’s mistake.” A

Dig Me In: A Dig Me Out Covers Album
Barnett, Shires, and The Linda Lindas handle the supercharged clarity and brio of the original, Price and Adebimpe the genre re-imaginings. The rest either overcompensate with tech or undercompensate by turning incendiary rock into mumbly quietude. But all (except maybe Wilco) are game. ** (“Turn It On” “The Drama You've Been Craving” “Words and Guitar” “Not What You Want”)

Dr. John: Things Happen That Way
Though I doubt Malcolm Rebennack knew he’d die while recording his final album three years ago, it doesn’t take an overactive imagination to detect some foreshadowing in his performance. Half these songs are hat-tips to fellow greats (Hank, Willie, Cowboy Jack), the other half originals with take-em-or-leave-em narratives. Both lend themselves to a little contextual imposition. “Mercy on me in my hour of need” says more about the 77-year-old with a heart condition than the youngster who’s just been handed a sentence by the judge. “Don’t try to go backwards / The hand’s already been dealt” and “Give myself a good talking to / Find out what I’m supposed to do” sound like solid pre-match preparation. Musically, he winds down in style, with the drooping melodies and scuffed rhythms marked by his singular oddness. Elsewhere, choir gals, organs, and Saint Willie himself lend a touch of divinity. So too do titles like "Gimme That Old Time Religion" and “Holy Water". And how about “Funny How Time Slips Away”? Or a finale that goes "I don't like it but I guess things happen that way"? As stoic a take on mortality as you'll hear, whether or not he meant it like that. A MINUS

Denzel Curry: Melt My Eyez See Your Future
Fortified by atmospheric synths and heavy-hitting jazz cats, 27-year-old Floridian Curry raps about staying at home to redeem his soul (not get cancelled), walking around like John Wayne (good way to get cancelled), or walking around like everyone else during Covid (“Forced to be mellow / See my common fellow / Told him keep your distance / Can't even say hello.”) *** (“Melt Session #1” “Walkin” “Worst Comes To Worst” “Angelz”)

Mama’s Broke: Narrow Line
Amy Lou Keeler is the dour and sonorous lead, Lisa Maria the slighter voice on occasional harmony, both of them Canadian multi-instrumentalists advancing haunting folk that, if not ecumenical, is at least tastefully unconcerned with local or even national identity. Dark but not gothic, brittle but not fragile, sparse but not austere, traditional but not puritanical—and plenty more contradistinctions separated by, well, narrow lines—they handle their just-thereness deftly, letting medium-long instrumental passages threaten to run away before gathering them back into recognisable song form, and anchoring lyrics more suggestive than evocative with vocals of unmistakable emotional heft. When they begin losing their grip on form, they have the vision and good grace to bring things to a close. Run time: 33:22. B PLUS

Mammoth Penguins: There’s No Fight We Can’t Both Win
As well as showing an appreciation for the emotional resonance attending to simple sentiments repeated more/less loudly for longer/shorter durations (“I love you” x3, “It was a dick baby” x4, “Fuck it all” x6) Cambridge-based Emma Kupa deals in such passionate straight-talk she’ll leave you hopeful if not convinced she won’t find herself in the same shitty relationship twice. “It doesn't work if we [talk/laugh/kiss] / It doesn’t work if we don’t [talk/laugh/kiss]” (delete as appropriate) is painfully final. “You filled me with confidence and then you drained it all out” painfully gaslight-y. “Stop acting like you know it all and show some vulnerability” just painful. Musically, her competent guitar and kind-of brogue recalls mid-digits landfill indie but omits the worst bits. No bedwetting male leads, for a start. Just Mark Boxall and Tom Barden’s big and basic bass and drums, which in their rhythmic progressions are as pleasingly candid as Kupa’s voice. A MINUS

Jensen McRae: Are You Happy Now?
25-year-old Californian who started writing songs aged seven and got serious about it after attending “Grammy Camp” at 16. As insistently sincere as obvious comparison Phoebe Bridgers, she spends an eternity in her lower register, which for the most part is nourishing because her voice is such a phenomenal instrument, though after a while you or someone else in your household (Maddy) might find it grating. Conversant in the language of the talking cure ("You are worthy of love / You are worthy of all that you need", "Loving you is habit forming") and with production (from Kendrick-guy Rahki) that favours an “in the room” “vibe” (wooden sounding percussive things), McRae styles herself “folk-alt-pop” rather than the glibly racist “soul” she was billed as by others. While some aspects of her style give me the heebie-jeebies, the pop part of that self-designation is the clincher. She may not have Olivia Rodrigo-shaped bangers yet, but she does have a gift for muscular rhythm, taut hooks, and unusual perspectives. Here, she’s revisiting her younger self to explain what’s gonna happen one, two, and three years from now; there, she’s writing a letter to Adam from his rib. Now to turn a couple of them into “good 4 u”. B PLUS

Meridian Brothers: Meridian Brothers & Grupo El Renacimiento
The quirky and convoluted concept (mythical (fictional?) 1970s "B-class" salsa dura band El Grupo Renacimiento discovered and revived by main (only?) Meridian brother Eblis Alvarez) might draw you in, but unless you speak Spanish or like gyratory rhythms too slick and limpid for my taste, it’s not enough to make you stay indefinitely. Worth checking out for when Alvarez chucks his voice down a well, though. * (“Poema del salsero resentido” “Bomba Atómica” “Hipnosis” “La mujer sin corazón”)

My Idea: Cry Mfer
All that remains of the Lily Konigsberg from Palberta5000 is her voice, which is more compellingly sweet, warm, and breathy when unaccompanied by jittery garage punk about… whatever Palberta songs are about. Here, she’s all plainspoken relatability, burping, giggling, forgetting, and ad libbing her way through material that mostly addresses her disastrous relationship with collaborator and computer-music whizz Nate Amos. He takes lead a couple of times via vocoder, which is also disastrous. The rest of the time, they manage the Moldy Peaches/Das Racist trick of letting the listener into an intensely insular sound comprised of in-jokes and extreme (probably excessive) familiarity. Imperfectionists who play pretty and talk dirty, their loops barely budge for their hooks while their lyrics tell the whole truth and then some. “Maybe in a couple years of give and take I will be the only one whose heart I break.” “Everybody knows that I cheat much better.” “I’m leaning on you cause you’re my crutch.” “I could be the one who makes you cry.” Needless to say, they broke up. Luckily for us, only romantically. A MINUS

Jennifer O’Connor: Born At The Disco (2021)
So understated it’s either bold or impoverished, and I can’t make up my mind which. But either way, the vocals are blithely weightless, the songcraft deceptively well-tended. “It’s looking more and more like less and less.” “What will you do now that your job is you?” “I would understand if you weren't such pretty girls.” * (“Less and Less” “Tell The Truth” “You Job Is Gone” “Real Chance”)